


Of college boys, old tv shows, trust and heavy petting.

by Original_Cypher



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, necking... literally
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-01
Updated: 2013-05-01
Packaged: 2017-12-10 03:50:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/781435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Original_Cypher/pseuds/Original_Cypher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a quiet midday during Spring Break at Derek's. Stiles is set on a lazy afternoon, and judging by the way Derek is sinking into the couch, he won't get any arguments from the sleepy alpha, so he settles for his usual routine of 'petting the werewolf's hair'. It all goes like usual until they make an interesting discovery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of college boys, old tv shows, trust and heavy petting.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [74days](https://archiveofourown.org/users/74days/gifts).



> No beta this time.

The tv flicks on through several infomercials, before Derek huffs and hands Stiles the remote. “I give up. You find something.”

Stiles stops running his fingernails along Erica's arm long enough to transfer the remote from one hand to the other. “We can always put another dvd on.”

Erica makes a noise from where she's sprawled on his stomach. “No. Bad Stiles. No moving.” Isaac, slumped against her side, snickers.

Stiles feels Derek shake his head behind him and has to admit, he loves those moments. If one had told him three years ago that he would spend his lazy spring break mornings tangled into a puppy pile on Derek Hale's couch, he would have pissed himself laughing. One, because the pack wasn't healthy enough to even conceive of such affectionate moments. And two, because Derek Hale hated his guts.

Turns out, he would have been wrong on both counts. After the unrest died down in Beacon Hills, Derek had allowed himself to relax a little, growing into his role of alpha. Instead of a drill sargent, be became a big brother, and feelings came into the mix. He found out that pack bonds were much stronger and reliable when they weren't based on the need for one another to survive, but rather on trust and care. He had visibly been afraid of risking his own feelings in the process, but they all displayed qualities that worn him down in the end. To name a few: Isaac's unbreakable devotion, Jackson's reluctant but sincere friendship, Erica's habit of treating him like a long lost and cherished big brother, Boyd's unspoken and nonnegotiable support, Scott's eventual acceptance and Stiles' stubborn insistence to stay by their side no matter what.

They still train. They still prepare for the worst. But for a long while now, the worst hasn't happened. The biggest deal they were confronted with in terms of bad over the last years had been Scott being forced into summer school and almost not joining Stiles to college. Ah... college. It's really has awesome as promised. They all have rooms on campus, and Derek abandoned his crappy rented apartment – cupboard, really. _Maybe_ a closet, if you felt generous – to move near campus in an old, but clean and big two story house. As expected, and to Derek's pleasure – despite his half-hearted attempt at denying it –, it became the pack's official lair. Sourwolf Alpha pretended to mind. He was believable for about five minutes, then Scott and Isaac found that he had bought enough meet to feed them all twice for the barbeque they had been talking about unbeknownst to him, or so they'd thought.

“Aren't they rerunning Buffy from eleven to one on there somewhere?” Isaac muses.

“Oh yeah, dude. Awesome.” Stiles flipped quickly through the channels to find Xander in deep conversation with Oz. “See, that's one good looking werewolf. We need more hot red heads in this world.”

Erica snorts, giving Seth Green a look. “That's right. You're into red heads.”

“No, Young One. I'm into hot people.” It's Derek's turn to snort. “What? Hope springs eternal or whatever, right?” Stiles frowns and pokes at Erica's shoulder. “Hey, don't you guys have a shift coming up?”

While Erica startles, Isaac whines. “I _know_. I don't wanna go.” They should get going, though, they're already cutting it short. Any later and they'll have to run there. Like _werewolf run_. And whiles Stiles would take any opportunity to reduce commute time, he thinks his friends dropping on all fours and whooshing down main street during daytime might raise some eyebrows.

“Gotta bring home the bacon, buddy.” He encourages as both pups stretch and sit up.

“Why don't you have work?!” Isaac accuses like Stiles is the one that forces him into very cruel shifts that start at one fucking pm. What? Does he sound sarcastic? Stiles' work at the coffee shop kicks off at seven am.

“Hey, it's not my fault that _I_ thought about actually planning my vacation days.” He retorts and gets a pillow to the face for his troubles.

While they put on shoes and jackets, Stiles pulls himself to the edge of the couch and leans over to retrieve his half empty glass. It's not exactly _iced_ tea anymore, but it'll do. He downs it. “I love you!” he calls as an encouragement as the front door closes, because he might be satisfied he doesn't have a shift planned in _weeks_ , but he is still sympathetic.

Derek doesn't seem intent on moving, since he's sprawled over the space liberated by Stiles moving.

“Buffy good with you?”

“Yeah,” the alpha says as Stiles sinks back into the cushions. “Amazingly, I find monsters and apocalypses more fun on tv.”

Stiles smirks, dropping the remote by his side. “ _Incredible_.” Giles is wiping his glasses again, and Stiles finds his hands don't take kindly to being idle, so he shifts, hikes up his body so he can shove his elbow over the back of the couch and burries one hand in Derek's hair. He tries to hide his smile when Derek pushes back into it. Half the time, he's not even sure the werewolf is aware he's doing it. Stiles can relate, really. He knows how good it feels – no, really, Isaac has magic in his fingers, it makes Stiles groan and forget even the concept of a thought. _Stiles_. Mr. Stiles a-hundred-random-ideas-a-minute Stilinksi. –. He would also willingly sacrifice big bad alpha street cred for that.

“You hungry?” he asks, moments later, when the Scooby gang gathers in the dining hall.

“No. I'm sort of dosing off, actually.”

“Hm.” Upon glancing to comfirm, Derek does look adorably sleepy – not that Stiles would say that out loud, he doesn't plan on leaving this couch, let alone be thrown off it. He feels for the remote and kicks the volume down a few notches.

“Thanks.” Derek sighs out, eyes shut and a small smile of acknowledgment on his lips.

Stiles grins and pats his head. “You're welcome, wolfie.” He scratches at the tip of his nose, wondering whether he should make the best of the practically empty couch – quite a rare occurrence – and flop face down on it.

“Hey.” Derek huffs. He moves and flops down against Stiles' side, grabbing Stiles' arm to sling it over his shoulders, without even cracking an eye open. “I didn't say you should stop.” he mumbles, unceremoniously dropping Stiles' hand on the side of his head.

Stiles laughs and resumes weaving his hand through Derek's hair. “Ahh... The power of the Stilinski hands. I like it when I make you my bitch like that.”

“Take that back.” It would have more effect if a, Derek wasn't mumbling into Stiles' shirt without so much as an attempt at movement, and b, if he wasn't actually purring.

Stiles smirks even harder. “Uh huh.”

It's telling that Derek doesn't fight it further. Normally, Stiles would expect him to at least poke him in the ribs or give a playful bite to whatever was closest – in this case, Stiles' shoulder. So he must be too drowsy to do bother now. Or, and Stiles opts to pretend that's what it is, his wolfie scratches are way too good to risk losing for the sake of winning a round of verbal sparring.

They're sort of hypnotic for him, too. He likes running his hands through people's hair. Much to Derek's aggravation, the award for softest mane is a toss between Isaac and him. Really, the alpha _hates_ it. Because his big manly ego can't handle anything about him being soft – ahem. Would you look at him now? _Seriously_. – and his big alpha ego has him grumbling about how being soft is a weakness. _Yeah, buddy. You've got weak hair. Let me add that in the beastiary._ Anyway, the point is, Stiles likes petting his wolves' hair. Erica sometimes lets him braid hers. Isaac always returns with awesome scalp massages and neck rubs. Derek just goes quiet and he will sometimes get a blissed out expression on his face that Stiles can't help feeling fond about. And kind of proud. And amused. Because he manages to make Derek look _cute_. Long gone is the mental image of him as the guy who shoved him into furniture and used threats of physical pain to make him do stuff.

It's all selfish, though. Stiles does enjoy bringing pleasure to his friends, don't get him wrong, but it's mostly that he likes the feeling against his own skin. He's found he likes short hair better. As soft and sweet smelling as Allison and Lydia's manes are, it's difficult to brush fingers all the way through. Even though Lydia would spoon Stiles' eyes out of their sockets if he ever suggested she had knots, it's obvious one can't have such long hair without a few strands tangling pretty quickly. All in all, Scott's hair, Isaac's hair. Derek's hair. Perfect length. Jackson's... too short on the sides. And he's got hangups about being touched by a guy. Which, Stiles thinks privately, is edging on protesting too much.

Stiles feels himself melt into the couch more and more, his hand slowing progressively. He's trying to piece out whether Faith hasn't arrived to Sunnydale yet, or if it's just an episode she doesn't star in. It's too bad. He likes Faith. She is the ultimate representation – and kickstarter – of his thing for bad girls. Rough and managed. Witty and dark. He's still not sure if he wants her, or if he wants to _be_ her. Well, you know, as a guy.

Derek makes a soft breathy noise through his nose, signaling he's not passed out yet – Stiles can tell, his weight is not completely slummed on him like a sleeping person's would. And his breathing, while very zen, is still wakeful. –. Huh. That's funny. He never thought about that. Aside from being the other side of the double edged sword between hunter and monster – although that blurs a lot, both in their lives and in the Whedonverse, which makes the master all the more awesome – Faith and Derek have a lot in common. Starting with the leather/dark/Damage-with-a-capital-D/rough/distrustful attitude. He'll bring it up later. He's curious to see if Derek ever saw the similarities.

He chuckles quietly, imagining the face Derek could pull being compared to a Slayer, and aforementioned werewolf makes a displeased noise at the movement, tilting his head into Stiles' hand. Wow. Demanding, aren't we? Stiles starts listing what he will demand in return when Derek wakes from his nap while running his nails behind the wolf's ear. A week of free food? If he plays his cards right, he usually doesn't really have to have anything to negotiate with. Being a good alpha means being a good provider to Derek, so he'll feed whoever sticks around anyway. A free pass to borrow the Camaro some day? Meh. Cars aren't really his thing and he doesn't have anyone he wants to impress. Besides, why impress someone with something you'll have to return afterwards? No. Oh, demanding Derek joins them at the waterslide park next time they go. That would be a riot. Well, not the part where everybody will be oggling all of his friends and completely ignoring Stiles, but... Derek is not very good with water. He's not afraid, per se, but his coordination is lacking somewhat. Let's just say his impression of a wet dog is quite literal. Oh, yeah, that's totally wh-...

One second, Stiles is grinning to himself, and the next, he feels a ripple of goosebump under his fingers and Derek flies off the couch, tense and fully awake. Stiles flails. It's been a while since they've been blindsided, but old trauma induced reflexes kick in fast and he grips the back of the couch, looking around wildly. He can hear Derek take in lungfuls of air and looks at him, trying to locate whatever's caused his sudden one eighty. “What's wrong?”

Derek's eyes flick to him, and he looks like he's snapping back into focus. He looks around, hand coming to rub at his neck. “Sorry. I, uh...Nothing to worry about, Stiles. No danger." Stiles squints at him. “Really. Nothing's coming.”

Stiles relaxes, flops back down and folds his legs, grabbing his joined feet in his hands. “O...kay... Wanna tell me what just happened, then?” He watches as Derek eyebrows twitch. He rubs his neck again, like someone trying to get rid of a phantom sensation. “Did I... somehow... find a uber mega ticklish spot that's been there for forever and until now never fired up?"

"I, uh..." Derek rubs a hand over his mouth and sits back on the couch. He looks-...

"You okay?" Stiles asks, because, all jokes aside, up close he can tell there's a fine layer of sweat on Derek's skin. He knows, he's got the same one right now, because he just got startled. But while Derek spooked the hell out of him, he didn't scare Derek. Something did, though. He touches his fingertips to the vein in Derek's neck – he'd try the wrist, but half the time he gets his own pulse instead. “Dude, you're not. What's going on?! Your heart's racing.” Derek has his eyes closed and is frowning. Is he sick? Werewolves don't get sick, right? 

Derek swallows, then reaches up to Stiles' hand. Stiles pulls it back quickly. He doesn't know what happened, so he's stuck wondering if there is something he should be apologizing for. Or helping with. Derek keeps staring at his hand as he lowers it on his lap. “Holy shit.” he whispers eventually.

That doesn't really help. It does make Stiles freak out more, because Derek rarely curses, and it's usually a very bad omen. “Derek, what?!”

He must sound really worried, because Derek's eyes snap up to his and he shakes his head. “Sorry, I'm fine. I just... you know.” Stiles blinks at him, then he ducks an eyebrow, hoping to indicate that he clearly doesn't and is starting to think his friend is a complete moron. "I just realized something,” he elaborates. “Which, a, is a surprise. And b,... wow."

Stiles shifts, trying to get a read on his expression, see if it holds any clue to decrypt what the fuck that just meant. Derek is staring at Stiles' hands again. “Uh...”

"I trust you." Derek blurts out.

"Uh... okay." Stiles bites his lip. "If you're telling me it only _just_ happened I'm going to be seriously hurt. And pissed."

"No, I just... I just realized how much." Stiles waits. Derek is clearly steeling himself for using his words, this is gonna be good. Also, hard and painful to get out. "You know... I don't know how to really explain, because I've never been human." he clucks his tongue at Stiles' glare. " _Fully_ human." He amends before the lecturing starts. "Or _only_ human, maybe. I just mean... it seems to me that it's different, being a werewolf. But I don't... I can't compartmentalize is as much as the others do. You know, what's wolf and what's man. Because I've always been that way." Stiles nods. He doesn't see what it has to do with what happened, but he's following so far. He agrees that it makes sense, even. "I, Derek, have trusted you for... a long time."

Stiles gives him a little smile. “Bleeding out, life and death, saving lives... powerful bonding experiences, weren't there?”

Derek nods and grins faintly. “The wolf in me... it's pure instinct. It's _animal_ instinct. It's whatever has me ready to defend myself even before I fully register something's out of place." Stiles nods. "That guy... he doesn't trust much. He trusts the pack, because it's pack. Because it's proven itself. But... it's only to some extent." Derek ducks his head. “If it were me or Isaac, right now... I couldn't kill him. But he would want me to.”

Stiles swallows. "Okay..." Derek loves Isaac like a curly, cuddly little brother.

"You..." Derek frowns. "What you just did... the fact that I didn't... and I didn't even register it, you know, before it happened. It's..."

"What? What did I do?"

"You were touching my neck."

"Wha-... oh. That's...” So? Hair. Neck. What's the big deal? Think, Stiles. _Think_. “That's a weak spot? Is that it? Something you never expose because it's all important arteries and stuff. For the wolf?”

Derek looks partly relieved that Stiles understood that much. "Yes."

So... Stiles touched Derek's soft belly. Which... aside from being a very disturbing and somewhat amusing mental image... is... awkward. "Sorry."

"No, Stiles. I just... you touched it. And not only didn't I mind but... It felt nice, it felt... like when you scratch my hair."

At least, Stiles is relieved he's not the only one blushing here. Granted, there's only a faint hint of pink on the top of Derek's ears, but he's glad he's not the only one to find that they've both stepped into Weird Land. "Yeah, well... It's no big deal, but that was the idea. It's supposed to feel nice. I won't... I won't do it again, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"I just said-..."

"Dude, you _are_ uncomfortable _now_. We both are. Like when you hate it when we say your hair's all soft. I don't say it. And I won't do this, if you're weird about it."

"I'm weird because I offered it to you." Derek snaps.

Stiles blinks. Wait. "... what?"

"I didn't pull away. And I liked it. Which is big enough, but I... I offered it to you.” Derek groans and burries his head in his hands before he uses them to ruffle his hair. “I pushed into it, for Pete's sake, it's... "

Weakness. Right. Stiles cuts him. "So, what you're a sucker for cuddles? I won't tell anyone, promise. Your secret's safe with me.”

"Stiles. It's a submissive gesture." Derek says, flatly. "From an alpha."

Stiles swallows. "... what does it mean?"

Derek stares at a spot somewhere. "That I trust you beyond something I could explain, or... grasp, for that matter... That I... I don't know, Stiles. I don't know." Derek grimaces briefly. “Look, I wish I had relatives I could ask about this. Or that could have told me that sometimes even an alpha wolf can do that, but...” he says, bitterly, and then, falls back into the couch when Stiles stay silent. “I'm sorry. It's not your fault. I just... I don't know what to tell you. It's probably not even such big a deal.”

“Are you sure?” Stiles asks quietly after a while, wringing his hands. “Absolutely sure?”

“Of what? That I trust you or that it's not a big deal?”

“That you trust me. That much.”

Derek sighs. “Thing about the wolf is... it's always sure.”

Stiles takes that in. Trust of an alpha and his wolf. They're silent for a while. It doesn't feel awkward, they're simply mulling it over. Stiles glances back at the tv.

Maybe it's thinking of Faith again that makes him do it. Maybe it's seeing Xander being silly and improvising in the face of danger. Maybe its his own damn curiosity and capacity to act before he thinks things through. The only thing he's sure of, is that one second he's saying, “Ok. Experiment.” and then next he's kneeling up, moving over and straddling one of Derek's legs, one hand on the werewolf's shoulders for balance.

"Stiles, what are you doing?"

Fair question, honestly. He'd like to know himself. Instead, he meets his eyes and challenges. “Stop me.” he waits for Derek to push him off, but he simply stares back. He leans forward, bringing his face close to Derek's neck, hand grasping the back of the couch to steady himself. “Okay, so..." Stiles says quietly, mindful of Derek's super ears. "I know I'm not a werewolf, but..." He can feel his breath ghost over Derek's neck, warm and wet, as if they both weren't aware enough how of close he was. "Imagine I were doing this..." He can hear himself opening his mouth. _God_ , Derek can hear it too. He's stuck between the excruciating certainty and anticipation of what's happening – because _he_ 's doing it, dammit – and the disbelief at his own actions. At today. At this whole moment that just happened.

He's guarded, tense and ready to back off or take a hard fall when Derek snaps and shoves him away, when his teeth graze the skin over Derek's pulse, but... nothing. He stays, unmoving, for a few seconds, heart rabbiting in his ribcage. Then he closes his mouth slowly, teeth dragging against the skin before he pulls away to swallow. "Huh." It comes out hoarse. There's a floating moment of hesitation, during which Stiles' body sways back and forth ever so slightly like someone rocking on his heels before taking a jump. It's faint enough that without physical contact, Derek would only have felt it through his heightened senses. Then Stiles ducks his head again. The teeth come back, a little lower. It's not over the throbbing vein this time. Instead of a physiological weak pot, Stiles chose the tangle of tendons and muscle on the curve to Derek's shoulder, a sensitive area. It's the spot that made Derek shiver when he touched it earlier, what started this whole thing, because it's full of nerve endings. 

Derek is still not moving, so eventually Stiles puts pressure behind the teeth. It's not a bite as much as a clamp. Nothing but teeth and a faint hint of Stiles' lips are touching Derek. Breathing is all but awkward in this position. It faintly squeaks through his nose. It's difficult and ridiculous, and during the struggle not to choke, Stiles' control slips and his tongue relaxes briefly, just enough to touch the skin. 

It all happens at once.

Stiles registers the slip and the salty taste of Derek's skin. He thinks – _oh, crap_ – and tenses up. In the same instant, Derek's everything turns as hard as a rock under him. If Stiles stilled and tightened up, Derek turned into steel. Stiles would be jerking away, apologizing or making a nervous joke about it, but there's one last thing that happened instantaneously. He can't pull back. Derek's hand on the back of his head is preventing him from moving far enough to even close his mouth. The other one is busy clamping a bruising grip on Stiles' hip.

Everything is at a standstill, Stiles is afraid to blink – he would stop his heartbeat to be more quiet if he could –, painfully aware that Derek could easily snap his neck or throw him across the room in a blink, he wouldn't even have to move much. Then Derek's hand unfreezes a portion, feeling a lot more alive than cagy suddenly, and Stiles thinks he feels a minute nudge.

He's stuck with his mouth open on Derek's neck, face cramping with the effort to bring anything but his teeth in contact with Derek's skin and it's utterly absurd. And, blessings of all blessings, gaping wide like that has made him start to drool. Awesome.

So fuck it. Whether he read Derek right or wrong, he needs to swallow or it's gonna get a lot more embarrassing very soon. He lets his lips relax, closes his teeth a little further, and effectively seals his mouth in order to do so. It brings his tongue against Derek's neck again, and he squeezes his eyes shut, trying to block the sudden realization of how intimate this is. Granted, curiosity; messing around and experimenting brought him here, but he's practically in Derek's lap and for all intents and purposes he looks like he's giving him a hickey.

Derek's hand shakes slightly against his scalp as he no doubt register the sharp spike of arousal that succeeds Stiles' intense terror from seconds ago. Whether Stiles imagines the next nudge or not, he goes again, trying hard not to think. Maybe Derek would have let him back off, but this affords the advantage of not having to look him in the eye and postponing a freak out and potentially pretty awkward goodbyes. 

It's with all his body that he feels Derek loosen the second his tongue swipes deliberately across the skin. Oh Derek is not relaxed, but Stiles doesn't feel like he's touching some kind of weird, body temperature statue anymore. Also, he's mouthing at Derek's neck and Derek is letting him. Even more astounding, Derek is still not apparently inclined to let him up. Stiles hasn't tested the hold of the hand in his hair again, but parts of him assume that Derek isn't in a hurry to meet his eye and face what's happening either.

Might as well go on with the experiment. The mischievous side of Stiles thinks about how ridiculous Derek would look with hickeys on his neck before he remembers with disappointment that they would heal right away. He doesn't care, though, and since Derek doesn't want to let him up, he's going to have fun. He manages to pull away enough to close his mouth and swallow properly, before he replaces it and _sucks_.

Derek moves with him this time, like a wave coming from their stomachs and rushing upwards, his hand, his arm are pushing Stiles up, pressing their chests together, and Derek is moving his head backwards. It's not giving Stiles more room, but it's not giving him less either, and Stiles is too busy freaking out about what it could mean to follow what happens next. Luckily his body keeps up with the program, so when Derek releases his punishing hold on Stiles' hip and is pushes at Stiles' leg, he shifts his weight and lift it before the pressure makes him overbalance and fall. His mouth slips away from Derek's skin with a gasp. He would take the opportunity to pull away in a hurry, trying to avoid Derek shoving him off, but that's not what happens. Instead, Derek slides his hand under Stiles' thigh and pulls it sideways. Stiles falls back, heavy, completely across Derek's lap. He makes a noise of surprise, then another, deeper and more frantic when Derek's hand returns to his hip and holds him down while Derek grinds up.

Then they're not moving again, Stiles heart beating so hard he can feel it against his chest, and he understands. Is he okay with this? That's Derek's silent question. Well, judging by how hot he suddenly feels, it can't just be panic. And that... just felt all kinds of nice. Derek has to smell it on him. But still, he's asking... Right. Because instinct, physical urges and wants are not always the same. Stiles leans back, a strangled pacifying noise in his throat, and sticks his mouth back on Derek's skin. Because it tastes awesome.

Derek makes the most wonderful noise at that, lost and pleading and demanding. Stiles can't help matching it the next time he thrusts up, rubbing their rapidly growing erections together. He hums against Derek's neck, and instead of sucking a lost cause bruise, he just mouths there, exploiting and tasting with kisses and quick flicks and long swipes of his tongue that make Derek growl. When teeth close around his collarbone, Derek pushes back against the couch with a whimper, stretching his head back, and gives into Stiles. He must be right, about that trust thing, that submissive thing. The idea gives a thrill to Stiles, and he brings his hand up to cup Derek's neck, moving up to mouth behind his ear. Derek's chest heaves bigger now, and he's rocking them together at spaced but steadily paced intervals. Stiles feels him swallow and, suddenly desperately wants to kiss him.

He's not stupid. He doesn't know what happened, how they went from here to there. If whatever _this_ is was always there or ifit just happened, but he knows where this is going. And boy, is he on board with that. And he needs to taste Derek's mouth now. _Now_. He's already pulled away to do so before he realizes that will put them face to face. They both stare at each other, panting, uncertain. Derek's hand has slipped to his shoulder in the movement and it's resolutely still, not hinting. Stiles must look obscene, mouth reddened by stubble and slick with spit. Derek's lips, too, are interesting. They look bitten. That goes straight to Stiles' gut. He realizes with detached surprise that it's his own fingers that are coming up to hover near Derek's mouth, so tempting, so close. His eyes drift there for a second, and when he looks back up Derek's gaze has heated up so much that it makes the decision for him. He surges forward, starving, but when he does kiss Derek, he brings their lips together more gently and slowly than even he had his teeth against Derek's neck earlier. 

He takes his time, moving slowly, memorizing. It's incredibly intimate to take such time. He gets to register the change when Derek's lips go from dry to supple and moisturized even though the kiss stays chaste so far. He gets to slow down the rhythm and feel Derek yield. He gets to follow the lead when Derek moves and changes the angle, his hand sliding up Stiles' neck and thumb stroking gently behind his ear. He gets to feel the shuddering heave of Derek's chest when Stiles opens his mouth and traces the corner of Derek's mouth and part of his upper lip with the tip of his tongue. Stiles falls into him then, tongues colliding and his body sinking bonelessly into Derek's. The werewolf lets out a sound at that, gripping him harder and rocking against him again. The forgotten movement brings Stiles' attention to the rest of himself, previously tuned out by his mindless focus on Derek's lips. He moans and grinds back, relishing the sound full of possessiveness and approval it wrenches out of Derek.

Derek flips them, laying Stiles across the couch and stretching himself over him. Oh, the satisfying pressure of his weight. Stiles watches him ravenously, moving easily to let him fall between his knees, basking in the torturous drag of their bodies together. He moves, regretfully stepping out of the dance of their tongues together, and smiles drunkenly when Derek chases after his lips. Instead of giving in, Stiles ducks his head and blatantly stretches his neck for Derek. "Come on," he says quietly when Derek hesitates. "I trust you, too." he tells him, then smiles. "I want you to." It gives him a rush to watch lust take over Derek's expression so instantaneously, and the werewolf dives into his neck. Kissing, and mouthing. Stiles lets his head fall back and claws at Derek's shirt. "Let me prove it to you." he finishes, and cries out when Derek groans and _bites_. He arches against Derek's chest, bringing a leg to hook behind Derek's and yanks him back down when the werewolf almost balks at his own action. “I said I wanted you to.” He rubs a soothing hand down his back until Derek goes back to his skin, nuzzling, lapping. Then, when Derek closes his mouth on him and sucks, Stiles can't help his hand from slipping lower, grabbing a handfull of glorious superhuman ass and pulling downwards.

If Derek wasn't too busy marking him, he would curse out loud. Instead, he makes a strangled noise and pins Stiles harder, eventually tearing himself away to stare down at him, flushed and panting. “Fuck.” he breathes out. “Fuck, I shoulda known...”

As beautiful as Derek's eyes are, Stiles doesn't really care to stare into them right now. Not yet. Not when there's still room for chickening out. He caresses up Derek's sides, hiking the thin henley up as a bonus, and frames Derek's face between his palms. “Come on.” he whispers, arching into him, pulling him down. “Come -..hm.”

Derek makes out like he works out. He sets an objective and works with a mindless focus until it's achieved, reached, totalled and Stiles is reeling, stoned out of his mind and so hard he's afraid for his own health. “God, Derek...” he babbles, pushing at Derek's belt, tugging at his shirt. Derek is less articulate, but just as affected, shoving Stiles' tshirt up under his arms and attacking his chest with his mouth like it's a personal offense that it isn't branded with his name yet. Stiles could write songs about the feeling Derek's teeth against his skin elicits.

The couch doesn't offer a lot of room to move, but Derek pulls away just long enough to assess when Stiles pushes at his hips. Stiles takes the opportunity to yank his belt loose and pop open his jeans. Oh, _god_ , Derek's going commando. Of course he is. He whines, tugging at the denim. “...fuck. _Please._ I need- _..._ ” 

Derek whimpers and Stiles hears the zipper of his own jeans being ripped apart. Oh well, that's the best way to say goodbye to a pair of pants. “I gotcha.” 

“Yeah.” Stiles catches his mouth and howls into it when Derek's hand finds him. “God, yeah.”

It's been so long, he knows he's not going to last. Derek's fingers around him make his eyes roll back in his head. He arches forward, biting into Derek's shoulder and fumbling until he can return the favor properly. He will need to take some time, later, to replay the sounds Derek makes and fully appreciate them. Derek rocks into him, and Stiles shifts, breaking the rhythm of Derek's hand on him, scooting up until he can line them together. Derek moans when he understands what he's trying to do, and wraps his hand around them both.

Stiles licks his lips, tries not to swallow his own tongue at the sensation and threads his fingers between Derek's as best as he can. “Oh, my god.” he mumbles. Derek falls on his elbow next to his head, pressing a sloppy kiss to Stiles' lips. They move together, wave after wave of pleasure taking them higher each time, until eveything disapears but the sensation, the steady build, and the ragged sounds of their breathing.

Stiles can feel Derek get more tense, loosing his rhythm and he takes over, enjoying the way Derek gasps in the crook of his neck. He shakes, a strangled noise wrenched out of him when he paints Stiles' stomach and chest. Stiles wishes he could see better, instead of having Derek's face hidden against his. Derek sounds breathtaking, but he wishes he could see how he looks, abandoned in the agony of pleasure like this. He settles for squeezing harder and give one more, twisting tug. He almost bites through his own lip when Derek rasps out his name. It's the last thing he knows before it all whites out.

When Stiles comes down enough to get his bearings, Derek is still panting heavily above him, one forearm rested beside Stiles' head on the arm of the couch, and the other arm planted in the cushion. Their foreheads are resting together, and Stiles nuzzles up, shifting enough to press a peck to Derek's lips. He grins goofily, Derek gives him a small smile and nudges their noses together in return. The werewolf flops to his side, squeezed between Stiles's body and the back of the couch, and Stiles realizes he's been holding himself up during all that time he took to come down. He wriggles back, Derek sinking into the liberated space.

“So...” he says after a while of staring at Derek's chest. “... you trust me, uh?” He can feel a crooked grin stretching over his blush.

Derek's chest and neck are turning an interesting shade of pink, and he's avoiding his eyes, but he's chuckling. "Is that what you college kids are calling it these days?"

Stiles snickers quietly, and surveys the situation. He looks at the mess on their stomachs. At the couch. “So, um... maybe next time somewhere with more space, yeah?”

Derek presses his nose to Stiles' hairline. "Next time?"

"You know... so that we could... last longer. That'd be nice. Do other stuff." Stiles says. Because hey... it would blow if this was just a one off. Because Derek feels awesome and tastes amazing, and it would really suck to now know that and go back to just petting his hair on occasion. He knows he's exposing himself here, but... it seems to be a theme today.

"Somewhere like... a bed?"

"Mhm." he says, and he adds, feeling the tug of sleepiness. "Someplace a nap would be possible without waking up with permanent injuries."

"My couch is awesome." Derek fires back instantly. That, at least, is part of their usual, very familiar banter. It's nice to see it's still there.

"I've got a spring biting my ass right now."

Derek puts on an expression of exaggerated outrage. "Before I get to?!" he quips, then flushes and goes back to hiding in Stiles' hair. Fine. Enough exposing his tender belly for today. Stiles gets it, he can be the brave one here. The odds feel okay to him.

"Okay, so... bed. Upstairs, right? Unless... you meant that for another time." Derek's arm wrapping itself more securely around his frame makes him grin and makes his face and chest heat up. "Okay. What about snacks? I hear you should fuel up after you, uh... trust someone."

Derek snorts and doesn't move. His lips brush Stiles' forehead. After a while he says softly. “I have trail mix. I think there's doritos somewhere in there. Raspberry scones. Though you'll have to explain to Erica why they're gone.” Stiles chuckles. “If the situation gets really critical, we have enough to make egg sandwiches or french toast. I think Isaac might have left me with a frozen pizza, too.”

Stiles closes his eyes. “Hm. Sounds like we could last a day...” he says, before he realizes what he's saying. “Not that-...”

Derek cuts him off with his hand on the back of his neck and his lips effectively quelling the words. Stiles relaxes, allowing himself to sink into the kiss, and his hand finds its way to Derek's side on its own. “So...” Derek says after licking every rational thought out of Stiles. “Sweet or savory?”

Stiles blinks at him for a while before he catches on. “I love raspberry.” he admits.

“I know.”

“Erica can punish me later.” he says, avoiding Derek's eyes. “I plan to be worn out and sore before she gets here anyway.”

Derek groans into his cheek. “Scones, it is.”

***

Later, when sweet and savory have come and gone, when they are both loose and sated and humming with satisfaction, they lie, feet tangled under the sheet that's been thrown over them wrong side up, and sideways. Stiles traces blessings, runs and love letters on the skin of Derek's chest with his fingernails, absently wondering if instead of egg sandwiches, he could talk the dude at the thai place he likes into delivering at the foot of the bed. But he's naked, and Derek's naked and stroking his back while Law and Order is providing background noise, and he doesn't think taking delivery like this would be appropriate. So he postpones, because Derek's skin his to touch takes precedence over starvation. Always.

He takes a moment to appreciate the awesomeness of that. Of what happened today. He gets a brief flashback of his teeth biting at the triskellion and a shiver runs through him. Derek's fingers smooth down the goosebumps that raised on his arm and he knows the werewolf is smiling. Possibly smirking. He doesn't want to check.

It's not that he never thought about this, but he always assumed that the look on Derek's face as he came, the curses he would utter, or the way he would cry out, the stretch of his neck, the hisses of pleasure, all of those glorious and _intimate_ things, would be left to his imagination. Now he knows. He's seen them. He's _made them happen_. He knows it's a big deal for Derek to show himself so out of control, so offered, so wanton. But he's not sure Derek knows how much it means to Stiles. How much it feels like a gift. He presses his face to Derek's chest and presses his lips to the skin there. He doesn't know what's coming. All he knows is that he doesn't want to let this go. He thinks he won't have to. Derek wouldn't have let him stay, wouldn't be like that now, if he didn't mean for this to last. He wouldn't risk endangering the pack dynamics for just a random afternoon of sex.

So. Seems like Stiles' not on the market anymore. He feels himself smirk. How about that? "Don't you think we should get dressed?" he muses, making no attempt to move. 

"We should probably shower, first." Derek says, nuzzling his hair, fingers scratching at the base of his neck. "I think I'll need to lend you some clothes, too."

Stiles bites his lip and smirks. "Right." Because his jeans can't be zipped up anymore, and his shirt is probably glued into a ball by their mixed semen. Wearing Derek's clothes. Well. Won't that feel boyfriendly? He gets distracted by the way Derek's nipple hardens when he brushes his thumb across it. "So, you feel like getting up and showering right now?"

"No."

Stiles grins up at him. At Derek's nudge he wriggles his way closer so that their lips can meet. Yeah, Stiles decides as they kiss lazily, this is awesome.

When they pull back, Derek is smirking and cocking his head to the side, gaze unfocused. Stiles is about to ask him what's up, but he hears something that sounds like keys turning in a lock. Derek is kissing his nose when Stiles realizes that they won't even get to tell the pack. Everybody's gonna know right away. Derek counts down. “... three, two, one-...”

"Holy shit!!" Scott cries out plaintively. “You guys _suck_!!” he shouts up the stairs before Stiles hears him stomp away and slam the front door.

He's never getting tired of hearing, feeling and watching Derek laugh like this.


End file.
